


Somewhere Down this Road

by dragonifyoudare



Series: Bloodied Feet On Hallowed Ground [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drunk Alistair, F/M, Post-Landsmeet, here have some headcanon, non-warden Tabris, non-warden player character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-23 08:25:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4870004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonifyoudare/pseuds/dragonifyoudare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Landsmeet and the Battle of Denerim, a certain drunk human finds his way to an alienage tavern and a new start.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kallian Tabris was drinking alone. For most of the years since she had been old enough for more than a sip of hard cider from her father’s cup, her cousin Soris had been her drinking companion, but Soris was off with a human woman he’d met in the aftermath of the battle with the darkspawn, so he wasn’t available.

Shianni, another cousin, was usually up for a drink even when she shouldn’t be, but Shianni was deep in discussion with the elder, her mug of ale untouched for once. Of all the people Kallian would have expected to throw themselves into the reconstruction efforts, Shianni was the last, but there you had it. Shianni was involved, so she wasn’t available.

In the months since their arranged marriage, Kallian and her husband Nelaros had formed a strong bond of friendship, if not love. Nelaros had never been much of one for alcohol, but he used to come to the tavern with Kallian sometimes to talk and play a hand or two of Wicked Grace.

Nelaros was dead, so he wasn’t available, either.

To be fair, Kallian wasn’t so much drinking as she was staring into her mug. She’d come to this tavern, the less charred of the two the Denerim alienage still held, planning to drown her sorrows. Somehow the thought of drunken oblivion was less appealing when she looked at the other taverngoers. Many of them she knew, and many of those had lost far more than she had.

Three days ago, darkspawn had come pouring through the gates of the alienage, and the elves of Denerim had rallied behind Natia Brosca, the woman they were now calling the Hero of Fereldan, to push them back. Kallian had been in the thick of it, a cheap sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, using everything her mother had ever taught her about combat to stay alive. She wasn’t sure when she’d lost track of Nelaros, but the next time she saw him he was a corpse with an arrow through his throat.

She’d promised to stay by him. So much for that.

None of the truly drunk customers looked like they were better off for it. Most looked quietly miserable. A few were louder, and one or two of those were laughing, but even with ale in them they sounded strained, like they were walking the edge between laughter and tears. Kallian took a sip of her ale, barely tasting it. She was, despite her intentions, still stone cold sober.

The door opened, letting in a rush of cool air and that smell of smoke that had been lingering everywhere since the battle. These were followed by a human, a man with a sword that Kallian instantly recognized as being worth more gold than she’d ever seen. With the careful, steady bearing of someone trying very hard not to look drunk, he walked up to a young woman holding two mugs.

“I,” he said, rather too loudly, “would very much like to purchase a think. Er, drink. I would like to purchase a thrink.”

The woman, who was a customer, stared up at the man blankly. Kallian glanced over at the tavernkeeper, but he was retreating to the kitchen with an armful of dirty dishes. No one wanted trouble, and a human in an elven tavern inevitably meant trouble of one sort or another.

With a sigh, Kallian pushed away from her table and walked over to the human, putting on the most unthreatening smile she could manage just now. She could probably convince him that an elven tavern wasn’t worth his time, if he was anything like most of his kind.

He looked down at her with furrowed eyebrows. He was probably attractive, somewhere under the bruises. There were a lot of those, and not just on his face. His blond hair was dirty and the blood from a cut on his forehead had a hank of it sticking up at an odd angle.

“What the hell happened to you?” said Kallian, her intentions forgotten.

“Oh, I met some nice men with very strong opinions. Do you know where the ale is?”

“We’re fresh out here, as it happens,” said Kallian. “Why don’t you come with me? We can go to another tavern.”

“Do they have ale?”

“Sure, they’ve got lots of ale.”

“Oh. Good!”

She managed to get him out of the tavern, down the narrow street, and halfway across the alienage’s main square, but then he tripped on one of the vhenadahl’s roots and fell to the ground. He pulled himself up to a sitting position against the huge tree and seemed content to stay there, no matter how much ale Kallian promised him. She even tried throwing in dancing girls, but that just made him sniffle.

“I don’t want dancing girls,” he mumbled to his shoes 

“Fine, dancing boys, then,” said Kallian, exasperated.

“No thank you. ‘s nice of you to offer. Girl I was interested in ’s reeeeaaalllly angry right now,” he said. “Shouldn’t have talked about her like that at the last tavern, bu’ I’m pretty angry too, you know!”

“Oh for the sake of… I really don’t need to hear about your lady problems,” said Kallian. “Come on, let’s get you that ale.”

“I haven’t got any lady problems. Never even told her I liked her. Wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Stone cold bitch. Wasn’t ever goin’ to be interested.” His eyebrows knitted together in concentration and he looked up at her rather than at his feet. “Those two things are not related,” he said, very deliberately. “She is a stone cold bitch, who, incidentally, prefers the company of women.”

A drop of rain landed on Kallian’s nose and she glanced up to find the stars obscured by clouds.

“That’s great. Why don’t we talk about it somewhere else? Nevermind what I said, you can tell me all about her.” She couldn’t just leave a drunk human in the middle of the square. Some of the kids around weren’t smart enough not to harass convenient humans if they thought they could get away with it, and that could end very badly, especially if they started throwing things.

The human sat up straight.

“Natia fucking Brosca!” he shouted. “Here’s to the Hero of Fereldan, who is a stone cold bitch and prefers the company of women!” Then he settled back against the vhenadahl, and by the time Kallian was done staring in shock he was asleep and snoring.

Kallian took a closer look as raindrops started to pepper the ground. Now that she had a hint of what she was looking for, she recognized the face under the bruises. He was one of the company who’d killed the Tevinter slavers.

That, she decided after some deliberation, was worth a night’s rest somewhere dry.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to dragoonage on tumblr for betaing!

When Alistair woke up, he was almost certain that the archdemon was not dead, but had in fact taken up residence inside his skull and was trying to bludgeon its way out. The pounding in his head nearly drowned out the sound of steady rain on a roof. He had more bruises than he remembered, but, on the other hand, he smelled eggs cooking. That should probably have made him nauseous in his current state, but apparently his appetite hadn’t gotten the message about the whole ‘quitting the Grey Wardens’ thing. With a groan, he opened his eyes and sat up.

Calling the room he was in modest would have been polite, but inaccurate. It was tiny. The only furniture aside from the cramped bed he was lying on was a chest crammed in one corner and a small table with a washbasin and a cracked mirror in another. The smell of eggs wafted through a low doorframe.

“If you’re awake you might as well have some breakfast,” said a voice from the next room, The voice was feminine, the accent nondescript, though for some reason it brought up an image of a pointy-eared silhouette looming above him, hands on hips. Alistair stood -- the ceiling wasn’t low enough for him to hit his head, just low enough to make him feel like he would -- and walked into the next room, rubbing his temples.

An elven woman was crouched in front of a fireplace, pulling a pan off of an iron grill. When she turned, her face -- fine boned with a small nose and large, bright hazel eyes below reddish bangs , and missing the tip of the right ear -- knocked something free in his brain, starting a trickle of memory from last night. 

He’d been getting drunk. That was pretty much his plan, after the Landsmeet: to drink. There was nothing much else he could think of to do. Unfortunately, that particular night’s binge had included a lengthy rant about Natia, who was now universally considered a hero, in a pub full of soldiers. They had objected to his statements, mostly with their fists. How he’d ended up here was still a blank, but that explained the bruises. At least he’d been drunk enough not to remember his sword. That would have been very bad.

“Er, hello…” he said awkwardly. “Thank you for, um…”

“Not leaving you out in the rain?” said the woman as she transferred scrambled eggs to a pair of plates. “You were pretty drunk, and I didn’t want you to drown if your head tipped the wrong way.”

She looked at him carefully, waiting for his reaction. He’d gotten used to that look from elves since he left the Templars and started encountering them regularly. It was universally awkward, and Alistair was never sure what to do with it. He started to scratch the back of his head, encountered a nasty lump, and decided that maybe he should just sit down and eat his eggs.

“Well, thank you,” he said as he slid into a chair. “That would have been very embarrassing.”

One corner of the woman’s mouth turned up in a smile.

“Very.” She put a plate of eggs down in front of him -- they were slightly burnt -- and sat across from him with her own plate. “I expect you’ll want to be going as soon as you can, but I’m still in the habit of cooking for two. I thought I’d offer you the extra.”

Alistair tucked into his eggs with gusto.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone eat that much with a hangover,” said the woman, “or be that enthusiastic about my cooking.”

“I have a big appetite,” said Alistair. “It’s too bad you’re not used to cooking for more than two people.” He gave her a sheepish smile.

“I’ve only got the one dead husband,” she said with a forced laugh.

“Oh.” There wasn’t much you could say to that.

She sighed and shook her head to clear it.

“I’m Kallian, by the way,” she said, forcing a smile.

Alistair hesitated. Should he tell her his name? He really didn’t want Natia tracking him down, and although there were probably a lot of other Alistairs in a city this big, to say she had been angry when he left would be the understatement of the age.

 _She did just fine without me_ , he told himself, trying to suppress the sudden pang of guilt.

Before he could open his mouth to give her a false name, there was a scream from outside. 

Alistair shot to his feet, reaching for the sword that wasn’t there. Kallian was on her feet too, dashing out the front door into the rain. The taunting voices of several men were muffled by the  continued screaming, just barely audible. Alistair moved to protect Kallian, but she darted back in past him, grabbing a heavy knife from a jar of cooking utensils.

_Uh-oh._

There were three men -- three heavily armed _human_ men -- in the square,one of whom had lifted an elven woman by her wrists so that her feet barely touched the ground. She was struggling, albeit ineffectively . Alistair moved to block the door, grabbing Kallian’s wrist when she tried to get past him. She dropped the knife as she twisted around, nearly breaking his grip.

“Let me GO!” she yelled.

“If you go out there you’re going to get killed!” Alistair hissed into her ear.

“That’s Shianni out there! Let go of me!”  She growled,   making him hold on all the tighter. 

“Kallian, listen to me, _you will end up dead_.”

“Ha! Looks like we’re not the only ones celebrating, eh Vaughan?” One of the men had spotted Kallian and Alistair’s struggle strolled over for a better look. The elven woman they’d trapped was hoisted over the shoulder of another of them.

“Enjoy, friend!” said the closer one, leering at Kallian. Alistair felt like vomiting, but instead tried to look lecherous. Judging by the way the man looked at him, he didn’t think he was doing so well, but in any case the onlooker jogged back over to his friends and slapped one of them on the back heartily. They left through the alienage gate, where a carriage was waiting for them.

As the commotion ended, people started to open their doors and peer out through windows. The few that caught sight of Alistair pulling Kallian back into her house didn’t interfere.

“You scum!” Kallian yelled as he released her, lunging for her knife. He shifted his stance to be ready for her to charge, but instead she threw the knife at him with shocking skill. He barely managed to dodge. “You fucking human scum!” She grabbed the knife he’d been eating with only a minute before.

“I know where they’ll take her!” Alistair shouted. Kallian froze. Her stance, he noticed, was that of a trained fighter.

“Where?”

“The arl of Denerim’s estate. That was Vaughan Kendells, the new arl. Go charging after him and all you’ll get is dead. If you’re lucky, they won’t set fire to the alienage, but I wouldn’t count on it.”

The energy seemed to go out of her. She put the knife back on the table and collapse into a chair.

“Maker…” she whispered. “Maker, what am I going to do?” Her eyes flicked up to Alistair’s. “Thank you. For stopping me, that is. But Maker, Shianni…”

“If I go after her… but if I don’t…” Kallian said to herself.

“I don’t care what they do to me, but I can’t-- I can’t--”

 _If I still had access to Natia’s resources…_ Alistair thought. Then he froze.

“I think I have an idea,” he said slowly, mentally running through what he knew of the streets of Denerim. “Is there anyone you know without close family people would target? Someone who can fight?”

Kallian narrowed her eyes at him, and for a moment he thought she was about to flare up again, but instead she spoke.

“There’s Soris. I’m his only family other than Shianni, and he knows his way around a bow fairly well."

“Then get him. If we can get to them before they reach the estate, we may just all make it through this, Shianni included.”


End file.
